Casualties of Life
by Aenigmatis
Summary: Investigations are launched from SD6 and the CIA after there is an attack on Sydney’s life. I posted this before, but I had to fix the formatting it was bugging me so much.


Title: Casualties of Life

Author: Aengimatis

E-mail: fallmark18@aol.com

Feedback: Greatly appreciated. None of my stories ever merited any so of course feedback of any kind would be wonderful.

Distribution: Sure, just e-mail me the URL of your archive site.

Disclaimer: Alias and everything you recognize is owned by ABC and Touchtone and is the creation of J.J. Abrams and Bad Robot Productions. I don't own Ziploc or Winnebago either. The song is part of Frank Sinatra's song _My Way._

Classification: Action/Adventure, Angst

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Investigations are launched from SD-6 and the CIA after there is an attack on Sydney's life.

Author's Note: This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction for Alias. This was in response to a challenge. I haven't found a beta yet so all mistakes in plot are my own.

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"For what is a man, what has he got, if not himself, then he has not, to say the things, he truly feels, and not the words, of one who kneels. The record shows, I took the blows, and did it my way."

            It was raining last Thursday. Why does it always seem to rain on days like that? I should have been angry, or sad, or even guilty because the bomb was meant for me, but I didn't feel anything. I was simply a shell, working on autopilot as I watched them lower the stately, wooden box into the ground. Many people have lost their lives because of me and my crusade. Francie just happened to be the unlucky one this time.

            I had planned on being home all night last Tuesday. I was going to get some work done on a paper, listen to Frank Sinatra, and try to forget, at least for a few hours, how screwed up my life is. I was even going to cook dinner for Francie and I before she left to go out on the town. I was supposed to be home alone.

            After dinner Francie decided that she would just stay in with me and catch up on her reading. That was fine, but now I regret not making her go out for the night of fun that she and I both knew she needed. The other wrench in the works of my night was the Joey's Pizza call. I went to meet with Vaughn just like I was supposed to. I did everything like I was supposed to, so why did everything go wrong?

            I found out while we were still in the warehouse. The ringing of his cell phone startled both of us. I knew something was off kilter when he got really quiet and his face fell. He hung up and shot me a very sullen look. I could tell that something terrible had transpired and he didn't want to tell me. A few seconds made up of several eternities passed by and then he told me the unthinkable.

            "Sydney. Something happened at your apartment tonight. Someone planted a bomb in the building obviously thinking you would be there. Syd, I'm sorry, but your friend Francie didn't make it out." His eyes welled up as he broke the news to me.

            The realization that it was my fault hit me like no other blow I had ever taken. I had caused Danny's death and almost got Will murdered, but I'd put those events behind me and at least they had known at the time what I really do. Francie hadn't known anything and still she was a casualty of my personal war. I couldn't hold myself up anymore and only two options presented themselves. I could sit down on one of the many crates in the cage or I could do what any other young woman would do in my place. So of course, I threw myself at Vaughn. We stood like that for what seemed a never-ending moment; best friends simply drawing strength from one another.

            We finally let go of each other, he gave me some words of encouragement, and we got into our separate cars. If I hadn't achieved my sudden plight of deathly calm he wouldn't of let me drive myself, but unfortunately I had, so I cranked up the car and made my way to the only place I could think of to go that was still standing. Thirty minutes later I was standing in front of an opening door with my father behind it.

            I don't really remember the next two days. It was all a blur of empty condolences, dark clothes, and a hollowness that just wouldn't go away. Fragments of time bleed together until I walked into the funeral and then the world stood still. I remember every agonizing second that ticked by. I don't know how I got through the service. I was trying to be strong for Will and for Francie's family, but I was being torn apart from the inside out.

            Sloane called me the next morning and told me to take a couple days off and to assure me that SD-6 would be looking into the attack on my life. So was the CIA, but he didn't know that of course. I told him that I needed to come to work anyway to keep me busy.

            Everyone at SD-6 was sympathetic and kind toward me. They may not know about the evilness that they work for, but they do know that what we do is dangerous, and they understood why I felt guilty. They all knew the bomb was meant for me. Dixon hovered over me and said that I shouldn't have come back so soon. Marshall tried to get me to eat some of his candy and use his inflatable chair for the day. I simply told them both I was fine.

            I had a briefing with Sloane and Dixon that afternoon about the investigation into the bombing. Intel was getting conflicting reports about the origin of the bomb, but Marshall was having some luck with the triggering mechanism that was retrieved from my apartment.

            That night I went home to my new apartment. It was about the same size as my old one, but the floor plan was nothing like it. I didn't want anything to stir up more memories than those that just daily life would. I already had new furniture and clothes care of SD-6 and Sloane, but it didn't feel like my place yet. It probably wouldn't ever feel like mine since I didn't have any personal effects to put in it.

            Saturday morning I met with Vaughn to ascertain where the CIA was at with their investigation into the incident. Shockingly SD-6 was farther along. But the truly shocking part was that I actually wanted SD-6 to find out first, because they would deal with it using methods more to my liking in this circumstance. Normally their vile tactics cause my stomach to churn, but now that it was hitting this close to home, I wanted to unleash whatever evil SD-6 could muster. I was coming dangerously close to accepting them for what they could do for me. The CIA could bring me down with them.

            I went home to spend a calm afternoon and work on my paper that I was going to continue Tuesday night and to supersede my earlier thoughts. My crusade and my self-worth was re-established through me looking at the empty, and charred, silver picture frame on my desk. It was the only thing that had survived the inferno that was my apartment. I took it as an omen of hope and destiny. I had to start from scratch on my paper, because my laptop had been destroyed in the blast. I had time to get two pages into my work when I was called back to SD-6 for an important briefing.

            I walked into the sterile conference room and was accosted by the immense ambiences that are Sloane and my father, in addition to Dixon and Marshall. Their faces relayed no apparent emotions or information as to the reason for the meeting.

            "Alright. We have received intel that the attack on Sydney's life was carried out by a freelance assassin named Nicholas Maestle. We sent a team out this morning to retrieve Mr. Maestle. He has been in interrogation since then and has provided us with the identity of his employer for Tuesday's job. A group of high-ranking officials within K Directorate put the hit out on Sydney. Apparently they were tired of the obstacles that Sydney had provided in the way of some of their operatives; namely Anna Espinosa. In response we will be sending teams to eradicate the people involved in making that decision.

            "Sydney, you and Dixon will be infiltrating an art gallery in Milan that fronts for one of K Directorate's older bases. It has been mainly decommissioned, but it is used as a hub for all of their communications. Since it isn't a mainstream base most of their own people don't even know it exists. While Dixon engages the primary agent on the main floor, Sydney, you will be acquiring the transcripts of all communiqués for the past week. This should give us a complete list of all parties involved," Sloane addressed us.

            Next Marshall gave us the specs of his newest innovations. "Okay. So to get into the room housing the mainframe it requires a fingerprint from one of their heads of security and an access code that's changed daily. For the fingerprint you will use that really James Bond-like phone from the Tuscany mission. You'll have to either find something he's touched or like accidentally fall on him and hopes he touches like your arm or something when he helps you up. You know, assuming he's a gentleman and helps you up.

            "Now this next little thing is like absolutely perfect for you. I mean, well Dixon might get strange looks if he were carrying it. It looks like any normal, square tube of lipstick. See it even opens and is a nice shade of red, but the neat part is the tube itself. See in the bottom is a de-scrambler, and when you place it against the code pad, it will retrieve the code, and poof, you're in.

            "So once you're in with the mainframe, which has just got to be awesome, this very stylish bracelet will automatically begin to extract the information when it gets within three feet of the terminal. It should suck like 40 gigs of information in just over two minutes. I thought the enamel work on it would go well with the red lipstick, besides the fact that it covers up the signal of the wiring from standard metal detectors."

            I can't help smiling after all of Marshall's little demonstrations. He tries so hard to impress and please everyone. He wants to do everything he can to help what he thinks is his country. I have to try and remember to be more of a friend to him. Friends mean so much in this life, and mine are dwindling fast.

            Finally, my father decided to chime in. "You will be leaving Monday morning. We would be sending you after the information tomorrow, but the gallery isn't open on Sundays and we don't want to attract anymore attention to you than possible. Travel arrangements are already being taken care of and will brought to your desks within half an hour. Be careful when you're on site. They probably won't suspect us to target this facility, but they will be anticipating a response to their attack."

            I contacted Vaughn Sunday morning and dead dropped my mission outline in the trashcan outside the public library. I spent the day by going out to, ironically, buy some prints from an art gallery so my apartment wouldn't look so bare, and devoid of any personality. I settled on a few Asian inspired prints and even splurged on a Thomas Kinkade for over the couch. The lighting in the picture proved that there were places in this world where cute animals roamed and no one was sneaking around in the shadows. I needed that bit of reminder. Somewhere around four in the afternoon I got a familiar wrong number and went back out.

            I went into the maze of cages housed in the warehouse, and Vaughn was waiting to open the door to ours even before I rounded the corner. I took a seat on one of the vast crates and waited to be told my counter-mission. I really hoped there wasn't going to be one. If he told me that the CIA wanted those names and not for SD-6 to have them, I may have lunged over and strangled him. Of course I would have regretted it later, but I would have done it none the less. I didn't want there to be one, but I still had to know.

            "So, what's my counter-mission?"

            "This time it's simple. Take this device and attach it to the top of your extraction device. It will copy whatever information is obtained. It will store the information instead of transmit it; thus preventing a second signal to possibly be intercepted. You'll pass it off to me at the airport. Devlin decided that we would only acquire the intelligence and not act on it. The CIA can't officially eliminate anyone, so they're just going to let SD-6 do the dirty work for them." He seemed smug and giddy at the moment. I think he too, took it rather personally that someone tried to kill me. We both know that every time we see each other we come dangerously close to breaking handler/agent protocol. But how can we trust one another enough to work in this lifestyle if we aren't this close. Besides, the policy is antiquated and should be more lax for the modern society to which it pertains.

            "Seems easy enough. But I have to say. Marshall's gadgets are a lot more inconspicuous than yours are. He gave me one concealed inside a bracelet," I said smiling, while looking at the small, black box I had been given.

            "Yeah well, he has a lot more time to work on things for these missions. And he has no life obviously." A few silent moments passed before he continued. I had already gotten up from my crate and was heading toward the gate when spoke again. "Forget all this for a minute. How are you holding up?"

            "One second at a time. I never thought I would wake up in the morning and look forward to walking into SD-6, but having something as important as bringing them down has really forced me to go on. I know that I can't afford to breakdown at this point. More is on the line than just the way I feel."

            "You'll get through it just like you always get through everything else. And eventually SD-6 will be gone, and this will all be just a few bad memories. This mission is essential more for bringing you some peace of mind than damage to SD-6, but it's still a vital step. Contact me when you get back, information or no information." I walked out of the warehouse and drove home with the afternoon sunset blazing in my back glass.

            Monday morning I met Dixon at the airport and we got on the red eye to New York and then onto Milan. In the parking lot of the Italian airport was a car waiting for us with a key hidden elsewhere on the lot. Using the vehicle, we proceed to an alley behind the target gallery. The city was as upscale as you would expect from one of the fashion capitals of the world, but they obviously held alleys in the same regard as we do. They are to be functional only so it doesn't really matter if they get grimy and gray over the years.

            Dixon entered the gallery first so as to already have them busy when I came in. We were both dressed to the nines, he so they would believe that he was interested in their hideous paintings, and I so that if they discovered me during egress I could always feign an attempt to find the bathroom. It was a little overdone I'll admit, but effective. I waited the obligatory ten minutes and then entered.

            Across the lobby I could see Dixon and the lead sales associate discussing the finer points of the history of one of the works hanging on the wall. I identified my target on the other side of the showroom. I must have been having an uncharacteristically lucky day, because just as I set foot inside the room, he was exiting after depositing an empty champagne flute on a table. I casually sauntered over to the table and secured the glass. Utilizing Marshall's phone I scanned the fingerprints with my back to the room, making it appear that I had picked up one of the full glasses on the stand.

            I then perused the art while scrutinizing the situation for an opportunity to access the corridor leading to the mainframe. I got my chance at a clear shot after ten minutes of examining a grisly abstract piece. I wandered toward the hallway and quickened my pace. Two bends along the way and I was in front of the mainframe room. So far, so good. If everything went this smooth I would be home with no bruises at all this time.

            With the latex print from the phone on my index finger I pressed it into the reader. Simultaneously, the de-scrambler was placed using my free hand beside the access code pad. The print was accepted automatically and immediately following, the code was entered by my lipstick tube and I heard the door latch disengage. I slid into the room cautiously and approached the mainframe. I placed the CIA device onto of my bracelet before closing in on the hub. Both sprang to life within the appropriate three feet. The agonizing two minutes waiting for the bracelet to extract the information was spent stressing over possible problems during egress. Finally I was able to disengage my second toy from the bracelet and exit the room.

            I eased down the hall approximately half way to the main gallery when a shady man in a business suit not so kindly told me that I wasn't supposed to be in this area. I thought about telling him, yes, but your hidden files aren't out from where I can get to them. Instead I used the bathroom line. He actually bought it and led me to the real bathroom. How someone that incompetent stays alive in this business is beyond me.

            I waited several minutes before exiting the restroom and then calmly walked right out the front door. Dixon had agreed that he would brush off their art eight minutes after he saw me leave. I stated up the car and was already out of my black wig by the time he got there. We wasted no time in going to the airport for our flight back to LA. I faked a need to use the bathroom at the airport and used the pay phone in the women's restroom to contact Vaughn and tell him that I had been successful. Back at LAX we passed off the retrieval apparatus as planned.

            Tuesday I reported to SD-6 in a rather cheerful mood. I knew because of my efforts the day before, Francie's killers would soon be dealt with. Permanently.

            In our usual briefing, Sloane informed Dixon and I that we had indeed brought back the names of all those involved in the attack on my apartment. Teams would be sent to each ones location. We would be leaving that night to take care of the ringleader of that little enterprise. He was supposedly holed up in a cabin in the Adirondacks in upstate New York. Our gear would be simple, some black, non-descriptive clothing, a couple grappling hooks, and a few guns equipped with silencers and scopes.

            That was fine with me because I wanted to pull the trigger. I wanted to see the life slowly drain out of him after he fell to the ground. I wanted him to know that he should have successfully killed me when he'd had the chance instead of killing my friend. It might be sadistic but I wanted him to die at my hands.

            Eight hours later found me sneaking through the deserted forest under the cover of pitch black. The only light Dixon and I had to work with were the beams coming from the full moon overhead. Stealthily, we crept through the underbrush toward the small, wooden cabin. The surrounding area was clean so I snuck up to the open window. The target was sitting at his rattan table eating processed meat and saltine crackers. I don't understand why people in high positions think they automatically have to eat non-perishable crap just because they are hiding out. And you would have thought that they would have a better security system for a man of this importance. All he had was the surveillance that we had already by passed.

            I decided that it was time to move. With a wave of my hand I alerted Dixon and he stayed at the window while I went around to the cabin door. I considered knocking on the door letting him open it for me, but instead went with simply kicking the door down. They hadn't shown any subtlety when they blew up my apartment so why should I show any to them. Using a firm front kick I busted the door inward. Shards of wood went flying about the room.

            The man inside turned around and laughed rather maniacally at me when I leveled the silenced pistol at him. I was expecting compliance, anger, fear, or even uncontrollable sobbing, but not this. How sick do you have to be to laugh in the face of certain death? His attitude just made me more irate.

            I could have said something really enraged or philosophical after busting in like that, but his reaction had given me a new angle to use for my tirade. "What is wrong with you? Does mortality mean nothing to you? You send someone to kill me just because I've been a tad in your way. Of course that didn't work out did it? No, they accidentally killed one of my friends instead. And now I'm about to execute you and all you can do is laugh. No wonder you've lived as long as you have in this line of work." I know; I was a little long winded, but adrenaline does that to a person. The gun waving at him the whole time was an extra touch that my body subconsciously put in on it's on.

            "No Agent Bristow. I laugh not because I'm about to die. I've always known that business would get me killed one day. I laugh because I'm not going alone. When you so gracefully ruptured my door you set off my secondary security system. In about five minutes now this cabin will self-destruct, blowing us both into so many pieces there won't be enough left to fill a small Ziploc bag," he remarked like it wasn't a big deal. His calmness pushed me over the edge. I fired a round right into the base of his skull.

            I turned and ran out the door screaming at Dixon the whole way. I got a safe distance away from the house and yelled at him to run the opposite way. The soon-to-explode cabin would attract a lot of attention even in this seclusion. We could make better time and get back alive if we went our separate ways. I saw him run off into the woods and then I did the same going the other way.

            I alternated between running from the now large column of smoke behind me and briskly walking so I could navigate by the stars. After roughly three hours wandering through the dense forestation I gave up and accepted the fact that I had no idea where I was. The stars might help on my side of the continent or even in Malaysia, but I didn't know crap about stars in upstate New York. I knew that it was going to be light out in a few hours and I couldn't risk exposure.

            I headed in a general westerly direction and eventually came to a sheer rock cliff that I remembered from the map of the area that Marshall had shown me before we left LA. According to the map, and the maps were always right, there was a road at the top with variable traffic. I still had my grappling hook on my back. We had thought we might need them during arrival or departure. Utilizing it I assailed the ledge. After that all I had to do was wait for a ride back to town.

            I was forced to ride with an old couple and their ancient cat in a Winnebago that I assumed they were taking to Florida. I was shown pictures of their grandchildren and had to endure painfully long stories about their kids growing up. It may have been tedious, but it got me back to civilization.

            The first thing I did once in the closest town, Lowville, was I found a pay phone and contacted my father with the details. While there I also contacted Vaughn and told him what had happened. He was concerned, but I assured him that I was fine and would be back in LA by lunch tomorrow.

            I made my way to the nearest airport by way of hitchhiking. I usually don't like to because someone of my age and gender people usually remember. I can't afford anyone to remember me, but at the time I didn't have any other options. I had to get to the airport and fly back to LA. I had no idea if Dixon was all right, but at the moment I had to think about getting my self to a safe place.

            It took several hours and a lot of empty promises that I would enjoy some young men's company at a later date, but I was in LA again by ten a.m. I went by SD-6 before I even went home. It was confirmed. All of our teams had been successful in eliminating their targets. All of the people involved in Francie's death had been cancelled. I felt better when Sloane told me that Dixon had reported in and that he had simply been forced to get a flight later in the day. I contacted Vaughn again let him know that I was okay and had gotten home in one piece. I then spent a calm night at home by taking a bubble bath and going to bed early.

            That was yesterday. Today I find myself in a quaint cemetery outside of town. There is no stone to mark the grave yet. Just the still fresh earth and the funeral home sign to let the world know that here lies my friend. Nothing says that she died needlessly because her best friend put her in harm's way. No one will know what music she liked, or what she did for a living, or even if she was seeing anyone. The lack of knowledge would absolve me of a multitude of sins that the outside world would never know about, but I will. I'm not sure if I can get past it this time. If I can have my way there will be no more casualties of life, at least not my life.


End file.
